


The Journey

by Govi



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: First Meetings First time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-23
Updated: 2010-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-06 14:28:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Govi/pseuds/Govi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And so it began...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Journey

**Author's Note:**

> 50 drabbles for the seans_50 prompt table challenge on LJ

meeting

Boromir has spent too much time on battlefields, sleeping under the open sky and in the company of soldiers to feel quite comfortable in the soft colours and silken manners of Rivendell.

At first he was genuinely pleased to meet another man, pleased that he was not alone between elves, wizards and dwarves, but after today’s meeting he feels shaken and moody.

Boromir fiercely believes in what he said; Gondor needs no king, not a man like that, hiding and living like an outcast for years.

Gondor does need the Ring though, and he is determined to see it done.

  
 couch

There’s a large bed in his room, made with crisp clean linen and soft feather pillows, but the first two nights in Imladris Boromir can find no sleep there and rests on the red velvet couch.

That’s where he sees them, Aragorn and Elrond’s daughter. The sky is clear and there’s a full moon shining, casting its impartial glow over the bridge and the two people standing on it. They look beautiful and very young, even the rough ranger seems strangely unblemished in the soft blue light.

On his uncomfortable, makeshift bed Boromir moves and turns uneasily.

  
 garden

The few days spent in preparation to the journey make Boromir feel edgy. He misses loud laughter and rough jokes. Here, the air is filled with soft voices and falling leaves. He aches for action, feels almost desperately out of place.

It is a relief when the time to leave finally comes and the Fellowship listens to the farewell words of Elrond. Boromir catches the small glances exchanged between Aragorn and Arwen, but he no longer cares and gladly turns his back on this place that looks so much like a garden, but still feels like a prison to him.

  
glare

Ever since that first time their eyes met over the book Aragorn was reading, he had felt there was something unsettling about this man. He was like, but also very much unlike his father Denethor.

At the council he had studied Boromir, admired him for his doubtless loyalty to his land – their land. He tried to make the other man see the danger of the Ring, but knew he had failed when Legolas stepped in and gave away his identity.

The glare Boromir gave him kindled a small fire somewhere inside and he accepted the challenge, already anticipating the fight.

  
smile

From the beginning Aragorn had been aware of the potential danger of the Ring, the effect it would have on all of them. He was not even sure if he would stand the test if tried, but on the other hand there was not much the ring could seduce him with. He had never longed for the power the Ring seemed to offer.

He and Boromir were on better terms now, even though Aragorn knew Boromir was sensitive to the lure of the Ring, as much as he, Aragorn, was sensitive to the lure of Boromir’s rare but radiant smile.

  
mountain

The mountain looked grim and they ploughed their way through the thick carpet of snow. When Frodo slipped and fell over, he lost the ring. Boromir was not surprised at all; he had never understood Frodo being the ring bearer. Maybe he had brought the Ring to Rivendell safely, but that could have been random luck.

The ring should be in the hands of someone more mature, not this wide-eyed, innocent looking hobbit.

The chain felt surprisingly warm in his hand, like it belonged there. Just the clenching of Aragorn fingers around his sword hilt made him hand it over.

sword

Aragorn liked looking at Boromir when he was not aware of it, mostly when he was with Merry and Pippin. Both Hobbits didn’t seem to have any problem breaking through Boromir’s dour and rough exterior and Aragorn envied the warm smile Boromir always had for them.

Boromir’s sword – usually nothing less than an arm extension – seemed harmless when mock fighting the two excited Halflings, even allowing them to bring him down on his back like a stranded turtle.

Aragorn joining in the fun fight, then taken down by Merry and Pippin, was rewarded by Boromir’s first genuine and addictive smile.

  
mine

Standing waist deep in the freezing water, fighting off the Watcher and saving Frodo out of the creature’s arms made them look at each other in a different, more respectful way. Boromir carried Frodo into the mine and Aragorn ran behind them, just inside when the walls and the entrance collapsed.

While Gandalf tried to remember the way and Legolas comforted the grieving Gimli, Aragorn and Boromir shared a rock. There was still a careful distance between them physically, but the sense of kinship was clear to both.

Somehow the long way through the grey mines seemed easier from then.

  
chain

With an immense effort they pulled the cave troll’s chain, giving Sam the chance to scramble away. Aragorn winced when Boromir, still hanging on to the chain, flew through the air and landed a level higher, his skull hitting the floor with a sickening thud.

The Orc was with him in a second and there was nothing Boromir could do but look up to the enemy without visible fear, as he had lost his weapon. Aragorn’s dagger buried itself in the creature’s throat and Boromir shook himself back to life, bowing his head in respectful answer to Aragorn’s assuring nod.  


bitter

After Gandalf had fallen, the bitter sense of defeat lay heavy upon them all. Aragorn, knowing he would have to take up leadership, tried to overcome his doubts as he led the Fellowship to Lothlorien.

While he tried to comfort the grieving Hobbits, Boromir noticed his eyes always seemed to be on Aragorn these days. It was like Aragorn’s shape, his features, were more defined and he grudgingly admitted to himself there might be something kingly about the man.

Only at night, with no eyes upon him, Boromir gave in to other thoughts, forbidden ones, so fiercely denied in daylight.

  
inn

Finally when they were all asleep, Boromir deliberately pushed away confusing thoughts about Aragorn and let his hand slide under the blanket.

Halfway to Rivendell he had stayed overnight at a small inn and taken one of the innkeeper’s daughters with him upstairs. Her breasts had fallen into his hands like ripe apples, and Boromir stroked himself remembering how he had playfully bitten her firm young flesh.

He startled when another hand slipped into his breeches, pushing his own hand away. He knew whose hand it was, even without the ring on the index finger pressing sharply into his cock.

  
 grumpy

The following morning Boromir’s face still burned with shame, but Aragorn seemed oblivious. Boromir started to wonder if it had been just a dream. Hidden behind a tree he checked the marks the ring of Barahir had left on his cock; they were still clearly there.

He busied himself with Merry and Pippin all day, watching Aragorn without ever looking. By nightfall he got grumpy, unsure whether to lie as close or as far away from Aragorn as he possibly could.

The little ones – revelling in Boromir’s full attention – spread out their bedrolls next to him, one on each side.

  
Daddy

Boromir woke suddenly in the middle of the night, his nose tickled by Pippin’s curls. Pippin slept like a child, seemingly untouched by their dangerous and demanding quest; his features in the silvery moonlight almost angelic.

Maybe the last few traces of elven blood in his veins gave Boromir his sudden strong revelation. Staring at Pippin’s young, innocent face he was absolutely certain no one would ever call him Daddy, that he would never have a son or a daughter.

A dark cloud veiled the moon and he closed his eyes, wishing for sleep to come and make him forget.

  
witch

Boromir had been a soldier for as long as he could remember. He had never recoiled, not even from the largest group of Uruk-hai or Orcs. Now, for the first time in his life he recoiled mentally, defeated without even trying to fight.

A sorcerer, Gimli had called her, but to Boromir Galadriel was a witch, pale blue eyes piercing his, reading his mind and baring his soul. He tried tearing away his eyes but he was unable. Even when her voice soothed him, telling him there was still a chance for him, for his city, he couldn’t stop trembling.

  
earring

They are brought to a large bathhouse and Boromir washes away dirt and grime. Clean clothes are spread on a sofa when he steps out of the sunken bath.

He startles when an elf steps in, bowing in a silent greeting. Boromir glances at the small golden earring in the elf’s left ear, hesitating on gender, but finally decides on male. He let’s himself be steered to a large stone table and submits to the surprisingly strong hands kneading his muscles.

There is probably more on offer, but the state of his body clearly states Boromir’s disinterest in beautiful elves.

  
shave

His body feels so much better after the massage, relaxed and supple, but his mind is still in turmoil; it seems like Galadriel is still inside his head and he feels abused..

He allows his hair and his beard to be cut - Eru knows he needed that - but when the elf tries to shave him Boromir pushes him away, afraid to look like an elf or a hobbit. He thanks the elf – Menometh – graciously, puts on the clean clothes and goes to find solitude.

There will be no sleep for him in Lothlorien, he is certain about that.

  
tree

Aragorn sat himself down in the natural cave formed by the roots of the huge mallorn tree. Legolas stood outside, listening to the elven lament for Gandalf. Merry, Pippin and Sam were talking about Gandalf, but their lightness of voice told Aragorn they were already recovering from shock.

Behind him Gimli was sound asleep, snoring loudly. Frodo had disappeared immediately, seeking solitude, but it was Boromir Aragorn worried about.

He needed to sleep, but instead he pulled himself up and went searching for Boromir.

He found him outside, sitting on one of the large roots, his face pale and stricken.

  
green

He had never expected Boromir to open up to him like this, to speak about his deep concern for his land and his people. Aragorn sat down gingerly next to him and listened, because that was what Boromir seemed to need most.

He held his breath when Boromir turned his head to look at him and spoke about the happy day they would ride together into Minas Tirith. There was a smile on his face, the green eyes now luminous with anticipation and joy.

He didn’t think, didn’t consider; he just leaned in and kissed Boromir full on the lips.

  
kiss

A small sound, probably a protest, escaped from Boromir and Aragorn tried to pull back, but then Boromir’s lips opened under his and they shared breath.

Suddenly Boromir reached out and pulled Aragorn closer in a fierce movement, getting them off balance and tumbling on the soft grassy floor beneath them. They laughed without ever letting go and then laughter died and the kiss deepened, became more real than all that had happened in the last weeks.

The kiss seemed endless and purifying, releasing Boromir from the last vestiges of Galadriel’s presence in his head.

For now kissing was enough.

  
smoke

Only when he had settled in for the night, closing his eyes, Boromir started to doubt and the euphoric feeling swiftly ebbed away.

Aragorn had not followed him and when the fragrant smoke invaded Boromir’s nostrils he knew Aragorn was still out there, smoking his pipe. He could easily imagine him, for he had seen him like that many nights before; eyes half closed, mind far away.

It was probably his betrothed, the she-elf, Aragorn thought about in those moments and suddenly Boromir felt betrayed, maybe even used.

He should not forget his mission, his father, his people. The Ring.

  
gold

In the morning Boromir felt more composed and was even able to look Galadriel in the eye when she handed him his gift; a belt made of finest gold.

Her gifts seem to have a significance and it was easy to read all of them, except for his. Maybe she didn’t really know what to make of him, but those piercing eyes belied that theory, so he thanked her quietly.

He watched her talking to Aragorn, the movement of her hand when she touched his skin almost tenderly, remembering vaguely how she and Elrond – and therefore his daughter – were related.

  
lake

In the early morning they left, mist hanging low over the lake, but even that mist felt surreal, like everything here. There was no chill in the air, and their hair and clothes weren’t damp.

Galadriel, who seemed to float above the ground in her white gown, lifted a hand in a blessing.

Without asking, Merry and Pippin clambered into Boromir’s boat and he smiled at them. Still, he kept looking at the boat on his left side.

His eyes shifted from Aragorn to Frodo who, eyes wary, held a small hand against the Ring, hiding beneath the Elven cloak.

  
pie

Paddling felt good, even though his muscles protested against the unusual movement after a few hours. Legolas and Gimli were in the boat ahead of him and Aragorn noticed the elves’ supple but straight back, the paddle moving as in rhythm to music only Legolas could hear.

Laughter came from the boat beside him and he turned just in time to see Pippin feed Boromir one of the small fruit pies the elves had packed for them this morning. Rich blueberry filling burst out of the thick crusted pie, bitten by white teeth, juice dripping slowly over Boromir’s bearded chin.

  
sheep

Merry’s voice talking about the Shire, perfect hobbit’s houses, parties, lush green meadows and grazing sheep, it all touched the surface of Boromir’s thinking, but no more than that. He did speak the appropriate words at the right time, but his heart wasn’t in it. For a moment he envied the hobbits the way they were brought up and allowed to stay children at heart. All he had ever known was battle.

Now that they had left Lothlorien and the cool burn of Galadriel’s eyes, he and Aragorn would need to deal with whatever it was that hung between them.

  
shoot

Late in the afternoon they pulled the boats ashore on a sandy piece of land which seemed like a good place to camp,

Gimli and Legolas gathered wood while the hobbits started building a fire.

“Tonight we’ll have some meat,” Aragorn said while he looked at the dark woods ahead. “I will try and shoot a deer or boar. Would you give me a hand?” he asked Boromir, grabbing his bow and arrows from the boat.

Only when they reached the first trees, Boromir spoke.

“I can’t use bow and arrow, what do you need me for?”

“Guess,” Aragorn said.

  
blade

They found a boar’s track, but followed it in vain.

The deer looked majestic standing in the little clearing, sniffing the air for potential danger. Aragorn’s fingers clenched around the bow and then the arrow flew, burying itself in the golden throat. The animal faltered, then staggered to its knees.

A flash of steel, a swift death; there was no blood on Aragorn’s hands, just on his blade.

Boromir looked at Aragorn, crouching in the damp grass to wipe the knife. He wanted to speak, yet could not, as if that arrow had not pierced the animal’s throat, but his.

  
leather

Still unable to speak, he pushed Aragorn bodily against the big tree, the hunter hunted. Aragorn, dropping his knife, offered no resistance. Boromir’s hands slid over the lean body, fumbled with laces, knots and belt.

It was by far not enough. He needed more. Leaning in, he licked the small patch of bare, cool skin under Aragorn’s throat, the oily taste of the leather tunic and salty skin mixing on his tongue.

Finally clothes yielded to his persistence and he could curl his hand around hot, pulsing flesh, stroking it relentlessly, until Aragorn let out a shuddering cry and came.

  
tongue

It didn’t take long for Aragorn to recover and take over control.

Things were blurry from the moment Boromir had been pushed down on a big log and Aragorn started unfastening his clothes. The eager tongue worked his cock and Boromir couldn’t watch, afraid that he would spill his seed immediately, when looking down on Aragorn kneeling between his spread legs.

Instead he looked at the dead animal, only a few feet away. It’s neck bowed in an odd way, the glassy eyes looked back at him impartially, while Boromir choked on his breath and then cried out his release.

  
fingers

Together they tied the dead deer to a large branch and carried it back through the woods. They didn’t speak, but it was an easy silence. The events, their shared intimacy had seemingly left no trace other than the wet blood trail, dripping from the deer’s body.

Light filtering through the trees and the thundering sound of Gimli laughing made clear they were close to the shore. Aragorn turned to look at Boromir and slowly they lowered their burden until it rested on the ground.

Simultaneously they each took a step closer and for a brief moment their fingers entwined.

  
steel

The steel of Aragorn’s hunting knife cut through skin and muscles, carving thick pieces of meat. He handed them over to Sam, who roasted the meat on a forked branch above the fire.

Ripping off meat fresh from the bone with strong teeth, Boromir grinned at Pippin trying to imitate him.

It was so good to belong and he could almost believe it, if it wasn’t for that dark seductive whisper urging him to take what was his people's by right.

On the other side of the fire Frodo’s hand, nails bitten to the flesh, clenched tightly around the Ring.

  
bottle

They kept the fires going and all stayed up late, except for Frodo who seemed to prefer his own company.

Gimli, who had more than his fair share of the heavy ale the elves had given them, lifted the bottle long enough from his mouth to shout after the Ring bearer,

“All that pouting will have you constipated. Come back here and have a pint, young hobbit!” which had Merry and Pippin burst out giggling.

“You'd better stop drinking and go to sleep, Gimli,” Aragorn said to the indignantly snorting dwarf, “or you’ll have a mighty headache in the morning.”

  
sharp

The sharp tang of the herbs Sam had sprinkled on the meat was still on his tongue when Boromir finally settled down for the night. From there he had an unobstructed view of Aragorn who had offered to stay awake and take the first watch.

Lit only by the dying flames of the fire, Aragorn’s face was a play of shadow and light, showing the glistening of an eye, the sharp angle of a jaw, the sudden brilliance of the Evenstar against the dark skin.

For one desperate moment Boromir wished they were someone else in another place and time.

  
tight

Sleep had finally come when Aragorn shook his arm to take over watch and Boromir had stumbled to his feet to sit tight to the last embers of the fire. He was almost glad when dawn came and they stepped into the boats again.

The peace and quiet of the day before had vanished. Legolas seemed to listen closely to something inaudible to human ears. Still Boromir and Aragorn could feel it, knew they were being followed, not only by the pathetic creature, Gollum, clinging to a floating log, but by a force far more dark and dangerous than him.

arse

The day dragged by as if it would never end. Even Merry and Pippin had lost their cheerful banter it seemed.

Finally, they stopped for the day. There was more than enough meat left, wrapped in cloth, kept in the bottom of Legolas' boat all day, so there was no need for hunting today.

Boromir scowled at the thought and Gimli stopped cleaning his axe for a moment to ask if anything was amiss.

“Nothing but my arse being sore from sitting in a boat all day,” Boromir replied gruffly, just catching Aragorn’s smile from the corner of his eye.

  
ocean

The sun was still up and Aragorn’s suggestion to take a bath in the river was greeted with enthusiasm by all, except the elf, who never seemed to get dirty in the first place.

They all stripped to nearly nothing and plunged into the cool river, sending ripples turning into small waves to the shore, as if the quiet river had turned into an ocean.

Sam and Frodo stood only knee deep in the water and washed themselves there, Sam’s eyes on the river as if he expected sudden strong currents; Frodo’s eyes on Boromir, expecting maybe much the same.

  
wet

The sun about to disappear, they waded to the shore, goose bumps forming as naked skin was exposed to now cool air. Wet hair dripping on his back, Aragorn shook himself like a dog, a fountain of droplets hanging in the air for a moment, catching the last rays of sunlight.

Boromir, standing close but too far away, restrained by the proximity of hobbits, dwarf and elf could not do what he wanted most, could not follow the cool path of water running down on Aragorn’s spine with his tongue.

His eyes caught Aragorn’s momentarily, but then turned away swiftly.

  
birthday

Boromir had first watch and sat alone, shoulders hunched under his cloak, eating a piece of lembas bread. It wasn’t bad, but not really tasty either.

He suddenly clearly remembered a birthday, long ago. His mother Finduilas was still alive and had made him a birthday cake with burning candles on it. That was the last time he had one, because his father had no time for things like that.

Closing his eyes, Boromir could still recall the cake, richly filled with fruit, nuts and honey. No matter how hard he tried, though, he could not remember his mother’s face.

  
tower

He wasn’t asleep, it wasn’t a dream, but staring into the fire had brought him into a strange, trance like state and he was in Minas Tirith, every detail clear under the bright blue sky.

He could see himself following the footsteps of his King, crossing the square, then climbing the stairs of the Tower of Ecthelion. In the King’s room a fire was burning brightly; a tray with food and goblets of wine was placed on Denethor’s large table.

The King turned round smiling and Boromir tried to step closer, when a hand shook him out of his vision.

  
fruit

Aragorn sat down beside him, and Boromir, still in Minas Tirith if only in mind, told him what he had seen. He spoke about the tree of Gondor, how beautiful it had looked, not only full of leaves, but even bearing rich fruit.

He tried to convince Aragorn it was clearly a sign, that they should go there now, use the Ring to defeat the enemy, fight together side by side and free all peoples of Middle Earth.

Aragorn shook his head sadly, refusing to lead them all to Gondor.

“Your city,” he called it and that probably stung most.

  
ice

Realizing that, after all that had happened between them, Aragorn still did not trust him made Boromir furious. He accused Aragorn of cowardice, of hiding from his responsibilities as he had done his entire life.

Aragorn tried to walk away, which infuriated Boromir – who had never walked out on anything – even more.

Grabbing Aragorn by the arm roughly, shaking him, he let contempt drip from every word he spoke.

Aragorn tore himself loose, his voice now cold as ice, belying the fire in his eyes as he told Boromir he would not bring the Ring anyway near to his city.

  
habit

Boromir was quite sure everyone had been asleep when he and Aragorn had been arguing last night, but still they all seemed to sense the tension in the air. Even Legolas and Gimli broke their habit of constant bickering.

Every now and then Boromir scowled at the boat next to him, but he couldn’t catch Aragorn looking at him once. Frodo did though; eyes too large for a face so pale and looking as if haunted.

Boromir decided he took offence to the accusing look on the Halfling’s face, which made him feel like an outcast. They needed to talk.

  
dirty

As soon as the boats were pulled on shore Frodo disappeared. Boromir followed him quietly, gathering wood for their campfire. He found Frodo standing by a part of what once must have been a large statue.

The Ring seemed to pulse around that dirty little neck and Boromir; barely aware of the words spoken, fixed his eyes on it.

“You are not yourself,” Frodo said and a terrible rage took hold of Boromir.

He dropped the wood and cursed, made a lunge for Frodo, flooring him effectively. His hands searched for the Ring and found nothing as Frodo had disappeared.

  
scent

He bellowed, cursing all Halflings and their ancestors, accusations swiftly lost in the silent woods.

He tripped and fell to his knees panting, his head pressed into a thick layer of fallen leaves, the scent of decay filling his nose and mouth.

As if a heavy veil was suddenly lifted from his brain, his mind, he realized what he had done. The Ring had used him for its purposes only and now that he had failed, it had left him in agony and remorse.

The distant sound of Pippin calling for help finally got him to his feet and running.

  
fifty

Uruk-hai. About fifty of them or even more. Merry and Pippin stood frozen in the clearing, looking almost comically small compared to the monsters closing in.

As soon as the hobbits saw Boromir coming to the rescue, sword lifted in readiness in his hand, their hope returned. Ferociously fighting he managed to place himself between hobbits and beasts and though he shouted at them to run, they bent over instead and picked up pieces of rock, throwing them at the attacking Uruk-hai.

For a moment it seemed as if Boromir would succeed, that despite being outnumbered he would save them.

  
horn

At the far end of the wood, Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli heard the sonorous sound and stood listening.

“The Horn of Gondor,” Legolas said.

“Boromir!” Aragorn cried out and started running in the direction of the sound, slaying every enemy that stepped in his way, elf and dwarf on his heels.

The huge Uruk-hai took his time aiming the arrow and the first one hit Boromir just above the collarbone, slowing him for a second. The second one knocked the breath out of him and he staggered, pulling himself up, slicing through Uruk-hai flesh.

Three brought him to his knees.

  
clouds

Clouds of dust surrounded Boromir when they ran past him, carrying the kicking, yelling hobbits with them. He could do nothing but stay on his knees or lie down, arrows piercing and burning his chest.

He held his head high, eyes steady and unafraid when the huge leader approached him. The arrow was pointed at his heart when Aragorn, suddenly appearing, flung himself onto the Uruk-hai.

Now that his king was here, Boromir let go and fell back between the roots of a tree. He tried to grab his sword, needed it in his hand but he was too weak.

  
voice

Life was fading, but Boromir’s voice was still surprisingly strong. Aragorn, leaning over him, tried to remove the arrows, but he stopped him, knowing it was no use.

Too little time, but he still tried to voice the anxiety for his people, for the little ones being taken. He solemnly pledged allegiance to his King and let relief wash over him when Aragorn swore to take care of their people and city.

“Our people,” he said, voice now breaking, fingers clutching the sword Aragorn laid in his hand, eyes meeting for the last time.

Thus died Boromir, son of Gondor.

  
scar

He didn’t accept help, but carefully opened Boromir’s tunic and removed the arrows from wounds that were no longer bleeding and would never turn into a scar.

Aragorn carried the body to the water, carefully washed out the wounds and dressed him, then took off his vambraces.

Legolas and Gimli helped lay Boromir in one of the boats, hands folded around his sword, the cloven Horn of Gondor by his side. They pushed off the boat and watched it slowly drift off on the river.

A ray of sunlight fell through a gap in the clouds, guiding Boromir’s last journey.

  
waterfall

Aragorn’s eyes – shining with unshed tears – followed the boat long after it had disappeared in one of the curves of the meandering river, on its way to the Falls of Rauros.

The words he had spoken yesterday were a bitter memory on his tongue today. Boromir must have taken them as a rejection of his city and its people, but mostly of himself.

Now that it was too late, Aragorn wondered if he could have saved Boromir, had he reacted differently.

The boat drifted with the current, hung on the edge for a second, then plunged into the thundering waterfall.

  
rough

He slowly pulled on Boromir’s vambraces, butter-soft leather over rough skin, the white tree of Gondor in deep contrast to his bloodied and dirty hands.

Boromir had died trying to defend Merry and Pippin from an unknown, but terrible, fate and Aragorn would rather die himself than to let his fierce warrior down and not try to save them from the hands of the brutal enemy.

He turned around to Gimli and Legolas, who both looked stricken by the string of events. Frodo and Sam gone, there were just the three of them left,

“Let’s hunt some Orc,” he said.  



End file.
